Cherry-Red
by turnaroundeverynowandthen
Summary: A chance encounter on a rainy street corner leave Rose Weasley and Teddy Lupin unintentionally caught in each others orbit; neither are able (or willing) to free themselves. A year-in-the-life of our two unconventional protagonists. One-shot. *Complete*


Hi everyone! Back with another random single chapter story! I began writing this maybe 6 months ago because I loved the idea of slow-burning infatuation set at work (versus Hogwarts). I just recently picked it up again and gave it a quick little ending.

I've always loved the idea of this pairing. To me, Ted is _so_ hot and I love a reckless kind of "bad-girl" Rose. (Literally shipping ScoRose until I die, but in a world where Albus and Scorpius get together, I think this would be a nice alternative)

I hope you like!

xoxoxo

—

It's raining the night they first see one another.

The cobblestones are slicked with wet, and the lights from the city above dance and shimmer blearily. He's got his arm around a girl who's name he doesn't remember. Was it Amber? Ashlynn? It's been weeks since Vicky moved out and he's fucking miserable. He just wants to get pissed and get laid. He wants, for a moment, to feel wanted. Have a warm body in his bed. Not think about…_fuck. The family doesn't even know. _

It's raining as he and his blurry conquest stumble out onto the street, intent on hailing a cab and finding the nearest horizontal surface.

It's raining when the doors swing open from the club next door and a flurry of red hair and laughter can be felt even from where he's standing. She's giggling to a friend, shielding herself from the rain. She lights a cigarette, taking deep pulls. The smoke drifts hazily, cloaking her in momentary guise. Even under the heavy swirl of influence, he knows exactly who she is.

It's raining when she turns around slowly, putting out her vice with the heel of her shoe. She looks up, their eyes locking. Her eyes flick quickly from his face, to the nameless woman currently wrapped around him, then back to him. He realizes how bad this must look. He's supposed to be married to her cousin. In fact, he's_ still _married to her cousin.

It's raining when she surprises him. She cocks her head to the side, giving him a small smile- a smile that will stay with him for much longer than he anticipates. A smile filled with a mischievous underestimation. A smile holding something…risky.

It's raining when she turns back to her friends and leaves him standing there; the warm rain now soaking him and his inebriated companion. Later that night, he lays in bed, attempting to stave away the relentless loneliness that's lately inhabited the deep recesses of his heart; his evening escort having long left. His mind drifts to auburn curls and a tinkling laughter. Surprisingly, even if only for a moment, he is filled with a small sense of peace.

—

It's sweltering when she hears the news from George. She's cataloging sugar quills; wrapping tiny golden price tags embossed with WWW around each base. She wipes sweat from her forehead. She's actually dripping._ It's the middle of summer. Why in Merlin's name do we have to keep the furnace on in fucking July?!_

"Rose luv, where do we keep the Doxy Drops? I've got a customer on the phone asking if we have enough in stock for a birthday party-"

"Round the corner, George, next to the Cotton Compasses. We're out of the Dragonberry- but I think we're stocked with Lemon Fizz…" she says without looking up. She's on a roll with the Sugar Quills and doesn't want to break focus.

"Found em!" comes a muffled shout from further back in the shop, "By the by- you heard the news of Teddy and Vicky? Bad luck of it-I think."

It's sweltering when she feigns surprise. Her mind snaps to that night, months ago. He was so piss-drunk, she could have laughed. She knew he and Vicky were never right for one another. Vicky was too perfect. Too pristine. Teddy was too wild. Too unrestrained. They liked the idea of each other more than they actually did one another. Rose sensed the bitter-end coming from a mile away.

"Harry says he's not doing well. Sustained a pretty bad Quidditch injury, so now he's out for the whole season." George sighs, sympathetically. "I'm thinking about offering him a job here, at least temporarily. I know you could use the help now that Freddie's going back to school…"

It's sweltering when she feels the sugar quill in her hand snap suddenly. The air is now all too stifling. She thinks of his face, those dark, piercing eyes…she feels uneasy. The chalky dust from the quill floats around her face. The hands she use to wave it away begin to sweat.

She glances at George, her sanguine exterior masking the unfortunate jump in her heart rate. "He's not going to last here if you cant get the bloody air back on…" she teases, going back to her task at hand, "But I could use an extra help in the storeroom…"

Her uncle smiles and walks back upstairs to his office.

It's sweltering, yet Rose can't seem to shake an icy shiver deep down in her stomach.

—

The leaves are falling, and he's losing his patience.

"Hey, _old man!_ You fucked the mark-ups. Again. Pygmie merchandise is wholesale. That's 60%. You want to single-handedly run _dear_ Uncle George out of business?"

She's standing on the landing above him, clipboard in hand. He wants to yank the mantle from her and hit her upside the head with it.

The leaves are falling, and he can't stop fucking up at work. She _hates _him. He can't seem to find the energy to care.

"You'd think working here for the past three months would make you even the slightest bit competent…"

He says nothing. He feels a white hot rage begin to churn in his stomach. He didn't even _want _to take the job in the first place.

"No wonder the only thing you've ever been deemed professionally adequate at is throwing a big dumb ball around. Can you even _spell_ Quaffle?" She's marching down the stairs. He can't help but notice the haughty bounce of her skirt and fiery snap of her eyes. Thank god there are no customers in the shop, currently.

"Hey-yeah" he says, eyeing her up and down, "It's spelled F - U - C - K - Y - O -"

"I get it." she says brushing past him quickly. He's suddenly caught off guard by the scent of her hair whipping past. "Stop daydreaming. Stop fucking-around. I know this job doesn't mean much to _you_, but this shop's as good as mine one day and I'd like it to remain in one piece-"

"_I get it."_, he says through gritted teeth, mocking her earlier sentiment. She turns on him, the fire still burning in her eyes.

"Then fucking _act _like it….old man…" Her voice is low as she turns away from him again.

The leaves are falling when he hears a cry only seconds later. Too sharp a turn. A box cutter. There's blood. She's pale. He's rushing to her side, his earlier fury abated.

"It's not bad." He says, "I won't even need to stitch it.."

He cleans the cut. "I hate blood…" he hears her say. Her voice is soft. Far away.

The leaves are falling, and he hasn't let go of her arm. She staring at him, her hand locked around his forearm, the color returning to her cheeks.

"Don't be such a baby…" he hears himself whisper. He's mesmerized as the ruby red of her lips deepen in color. He's half cradling her. She's still clinging onto him. He realizes too soon that his breathing has slowed, there's a warmth now pooling deep within him. This is the purest sense of peace he's felt in months.

Her eyes flick upwards towards his brow. A small smile paints her face.

"Pink, huh?" she says softly.

The leaves are falling and his hair has suddenly changed color for the first time in over a year.

They go back to their routines. He still can't seem to correctly inventory Pygmy Merchandise. She still snaps at him, exasperatedly questioning his intelligence. However, there's been a shift. It's small, but it's there.

Neither one of them are willing to call attention to it. And, for the time being, neither of them want to.

—

The sun is setting and she asks if he wants to join her for a smoke.

He's surprised. In the months he's worked with her, she's never once asked him. They've been hesitant around one another since the box cutter incident, teetering around conversation, trying not to make waves. This is a bold move on her part.

The '_why not' _comes flying out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

She takes him to the roof. He can tell this spot is special to her. There's a little bench, a plant or two…a tiny pink ashtray. She lights her cigarette, taking a deep pull and offering him one. He accepts. He's reminded of that first night, almost six months ago.

The sun is setting and she smiles softly as the pink and orange lights bounce and dance on her cheeks. He's never seen her so serene.

"When'd you pick _that_ up?" the question is out of his mouth too quickly.

She squints at him, "Hmm? You mean my _horrid_ habit?" she laughs, breathing out the grey smoke.

He nods.

"It's the one thing I've kept from my salacious past…"

"You?"

"I forget… You weren't around."

He's silent.

"I was quite the wild thing…"

Another pull from the cigarette. He's annoyed at how much his curiosity is peaked.

"When everything went down with Al and Scorpius… Well, I felt a bit like a pawn. I'd been so bloody in love with Scorp…for so long. And Al was my best friend…"

She takes another long pull, blowing the smoke to the side.

"They'd been running off with one another for _ages_ behind my back…It's really romantic -if you're looking at it from the outside. But…if you're me…you're a complete idiot and you spend the next 5 or so years drinking too much, sleeping with too many people and picking up a nasty ritual your mother _despises."_

She's done with her cigarette. He's done with his.

"So…how many is too many?" It's meant as a joke, but now he's got some imagery in his brain he feels strangely territorial about.

She laughs. "Pervert. You're not allowed back up here with me. You're banned."

The sun is setting and he's all too aware of how much he wishes the moment could suspend in time, just a little bit longer.

—

The temperature drops and they keep running into one another. It's always dark, always late. Always a last call. Much like the night she first saw him. She always does her best to pretend she doesn't see him. He's with his mates from school, she's with hers.

They don't run in the same circles.

He thinks her friends are obnoxious. She thinks his friends are pathetic. They never mention their brief passings when they're working. She half-believes he's so drunk, he may not even remember the momentary glances, the raise of a brow.

The temperature drops and she's been abandoned at the bar. Scorpius and Al have become basically under house-arrest since getting engaged and Cassie has found someone tall, dark and all-too-easy to spend the evening with. She isn't drunk enough to forget, and too drunk to do anything about it. She's annoyed, and lonely.

The temperature drops and he's suddenly standing next to her. His cheeks are flushed, his gait wobbly. She doesn't want to admit it, but her mood is considerably brightened.

"Come here often?"

He's cheeky.

"Sorry, do I know you?"

She's playing along.

"Where's the brat pack?"

"Where's the _frat_ pack?"

The temperature drops and he's staring at her; his moves emboldened by the fire whiskey now throughly marinating his judgement.

"Let me buy you a drink."

He's not asking.

She stares back. A small smile playing on her lips. She doesn't say anything.

He leans in, his eyes dark and mischievous, "Don't be such a baby…"

A raise of a brow, a disastrous quickening of a heart beat.

"Fine."

He's pleased with himself. She finds she doesn't mind.

The temperature drops and he's walking her home. He's making her laugh. She doesn't know if it's the whiskey or the late hour, but she hasn't felt this free in ages. Both of their noses are red with cold and both their eyes are shining in the moonlight.

They reach her front door and all too quickly, the moment disappears. He's quick to leave. She's quick to get inside. They're quickly aware of the icy frost.

The temperature drops and Rose is desperately trying to forget how lovely her evening was.

—-

It's the holiday rush and he wishes she would stop wearing red.

He's got candy to stock, ribbons to curl, customers to tolerate…and he can't seem to do any of those things well when he can't take his eyes off of her.

He's admitted to himself that he thinks she's good looking. In her normal attire, she's _more _than nice enough to see… but there's something about that cherry red sweater that's driving him a little mad.

Now, he's noticing the bright blue of her eyes… the soft pale of her skin, dotted with tiny freckles… her auburn hair, tossed ungraciously atop her head…her lashes, her lips.

He wants to dunk his head in a searing cauldron.

He's afraid George is going to catch him drooling. He tries to keep busy, seeking any and every task that'll keep her out of his direct gaze. He's never worked so hard in his _life_ to rid himself of a pretty girl.

She notices.

"You're so diligent these days…" she laughs.

They've finally closed for the evening. The lights are dimmed, she's arranging a small tower of golden boxes. He's arranging small piles of dust and debris.

He smiles lightly, continuing to sweep the floor.

"I got you something…"

It's the holiday rush, and there's a small package set next to him. Her nails, painted red -of course, are clacking softly on the counter.

He stares at the gift, unsure of how to react.

"I didn't get you anything."

She laughs again, "Is that how gifts work? Just open it."

It's a small flask, copper.

"Wait. Look at the engraving!", She's giddy.

He flips it over. _To The World's Greatest Grandfather…_

She laughs. No_, cackles._

"Happy Christmas, old man…"

It's the holiday rush and she goes back to her merchandising. He palms the little flask, trying to dull the feeling of warmth from her small gesture of kindness…

—

It's snowing outside and the Weasley family Christmas is well underway. The presents have been unwrapped, drinks have begun to flow, and some cousin has played the same stilted rendition of _Silent Night_ for the tenth time in a row.

She has a migraine.

She's spent the past four days cooped up in her childhood home, sneaking cigarettes and dodging subliminal questioning about her life choices. She actually _misses_ being at work. She never misses work.

It's snowing outside and Rose has decided she's officially _done_ with her family. Due to the nature of the frosty storm, the children have been cooped inside for hours. They're screaming, running, dancing. She feels for them, but she wants to find a small hole to crawl into and bury herself. She's calculating exactly how fast she would need to run before someone could catch her fleeing the scene.

It's snowing outside and all of a sudden, there's a knock at the door. There's a momentary silence, then she can hear her grandmother burst into happy tears.

"Oh, my sweet Teddy! It's been years!"

Rose can feel her heart jump straight into her throat.

The commotion that follows his arrival is unmatched. He hasn't been to a family Christmas since he was still at school; always traveling for work, or spending his holidays with the Delacour's in France. He's definitely been missed.

As he's bombarded by the throng of red-headed adults and children alike, she can tell he's searching the crowd for something…_someone. _When they finally lock eyes and he mouths a soft "hey", she curses the grin that breaks out onto her face.

Rose suddenly feels the need to be very busy.

Mercifully, a baby begins to fuss. She practically lunges for the weeping, little thing and rounds a corner bouncing and soothing. He settles quickly, now content to chew on a handful of Rose's hair. She wishes she could calm the rising flush of her cheeks as easily as she could calm her infant companion.

He finds her, of course.

"Who's this little nipper?"

She turns, now entirely unable to settle rapid pounding in her chest. _Has he always been this tall?_ _Have his eyes always been so ocean-like?_ She can actually _smell _him. She doesn't know what's wrong with her.

"Uh- Hm. This one..? Alfie. He's James's."

He reaches out, grabbing onto one of Alfie's tiny feet. He laughs.

"George invited me, by the way…"

She blinks, looking up at him. All she can make out is a small "hmm" of acknowledgement.

"My gran and I do stuff during the day…didn't fancy spending the holiday alone."

"I'm sure everyone is really happy you're here." She bounces Alfie to her other hip, "I mean, Gran hasn't stopped crying since you turned up, so…"

He laughs again, but it doesn't reach his eyes. They're both, admittedly, so awkward. Besides, the occasional run-in at a pub, this is the first time they've seen one another outside of work.

She's suddenly aware of his appearance. His hair is combed, his clothes are nice, he's freshly shaved. He looks really…_handsome. _

"I got you something.." He says it as if he's admitted to doing something horrible.

"Ooh…my favorite kind of gift. The one that's procured through _guilt." _She teases.

He rolls his eyes, "Will you just open it?"

It's snowing outside and all of a sudden she's pulling a cherry-red, silk scarf out of a carefully wrapped package.

"Oh wow…" she breathes. She's overwhelmed. The gift is beautiful. It makes her silly, copper flask look like a tin can. "Ted…this is too much."

He's beaming. "I asked the shopgirl for something that would really_… _undermine the gift you gave me…"

She laughs weakly. "That's pretty decent criteria. I might use that myself next time…"

They're quiet again. The awkwardness no longer there, but replaced by an unfamiliar tenderness. Neither one is sure how to navigate the conversation further.

Suddenly, Alfie makes a move for the scarf.

"Ah ah ah- little one…Here, take him for a moment. I'll put it up in my hair. It even matches my dress…"

She hands over the drool-soaked bundle, and ties up her mane. She can feel his eyes on her. She's burning hot and ice cold at the same time.

"How do I look?"

The second the words come out of her mouth, she knows she's crossed over some sort of unspoken threshold. He seems caught off guard by her question, but he smiles slyly.

"You look perfectly decent, Rose Weasley…"

It's snowing outside, and she's suddenly aware of more than a few curious sets of eyes watching the exchange suspiciously across the room.

She's all too eager and Ted is all too genuine. This looks _bad _from the outside. She feels embarrassed and outraged and silly and small. She wants to run up to her onlookers and explain it all. He used to be _married _to her cousin. He's _nine years_ older than her. He thinks of her as a little sister… They're friends…barely even that. It's nothing…

It's snowing outside, and she spends the rest of the evening avoiding him. He seems confused at first, but after a bit, it obviously doesn't bother him. He chats with Harry, dances with Ginny, chases around a worshiping gaggle of youngsters, he even makes plans with grandma Molly to attend the next Sunday dinner.

She watches all of this from afar, willing herself to stop falling again, for someone who couldn't possibly love her back…

—-

It's the new year and he's met someone. He really wasn't meaning too. It's been less than a year since his split from Vicky. Since then, his contact with the outside world -women in particular- has been sanctioned to dark pubs, late nights, and heavy outside influences. Aside from his young coworker and absent-minded uncle, he's spent little _sober _time with others.

Her name is Lindy. She's sweet, wholesome…outgoing. Every thing he isn't. He doesn't totally know why she's into him. They meet in line at the local market. She's seen him before. He likes her smile. She asks him for coffee. His instinct is to say no, but his mind flashes quickly to that Christmas night… the anticipation that quickly turned to confusion…the fear in her eyes…the hollow feeling upon her obvious avoidance…

He knows now he shouldn't have given her the scarf. He barely knows what compelled him to give it to her in the first place. She must have assumed the gift had some hidden implications. He wants to tell her. I_t was just a gift. You've been such a great friend to me. The color looks nice on you. This doesn't mean…anything. _But he doesn't dare. Because if he's perfectly honest with himself, he doesn't totally believe it.

He says yes to the coffee date.

It's the new year, and one date turns into two, two turn into three and before he knows it, he's been seeing this girl for a little over a month. She takes him to museums, he drags her to sporting events. He's even drinking less. He feels peaceful and grounded when she's around.

Except, he hasn't told Rose. He doesn't know why. It's something that genuinely keeps him awake at night. It's not like he needs to tell her _e_verything_…or anything. _This shouldn't even matter to her. This shouldn't matter to _him. _

It's just that every time he goes to share about his dinner plans, or the film they caught earlier that week, something stops him. Chokes him.

It's the new year, and Lindy surprises him at work for the first time. She hands him a coffee and kisses him on the cheek, she chats excitedly about their weekend plans. They're going wine tasting. Her idea. However, he's a million miles away, acutely aware of the burning gaze of a redhead, sat at the cash register next to him.

She introduces herself, full of smiles. The two of them hit it off right away. Lindy, being someone who lives to be delighted by the world. Rose, being someone who knows exactly when to turn it on. He should feel relieved by the exchange, but there's a sick twisting in his stomach.

The visit doesn't last long. Lindy needs to get back to work. When the bell slams, signaling her departure, the air is almost suffocating.

"You know her?", she asks, mischievously.

He turns around, startled by the tease in her tone. She smiling. She almost looks relieved.

"Her? No…I thought _you_ knew her."

She laughs. "She seems nice."

"She is nice…" His voice is soft.

"Wine tasting, hmm?", she wiggles her brow.

"Shush, you." A tense breath he didn't realize he had been holding-in, is suddenly released.

They're back to their old repartee.

She laughs again and goes back to her work.

Its the new year and he should feel happy. He has a girlfriend, a good job…his life is looking up for the first time in ages. However, at night, he cant stop his mind from drifting to auburn curls and tinkling laughter…

—

The temperature rises and Rose lets Cassie set her up on a blind date.

It's definitely _not_ because of Teddy.

It's definitely _not _because she feels like clawing her own eyes out whenever she sees them together. It's definitely _not _because all he does now is talk about their dates or gush about their trips. It's definitely _not_ because she literally feels nauseous upon hearing that blasted name…Lindy. _It's not even a real name! _

It's definitely _not_ for the sole purpose of flushing her stupid crush out of her system so she can carry on with her life like normal.

The temperature rises and it's definitely _not, _but it definitely is.

—-

It's the first rain of the season when he spots her through the window. She's late for her shift. Something entirely unheard of.

In truth, he hears her laughter first. When he looks up from unboxing a new display case, she's bolting for the door, laughing, soaked head to toe, bidding goodbye to someone across the street.

She's about to step in through the door, when the mysterious companion calls out her name and comes rushing towards her, a stupid smile painted across his face.

Teddy curses the hardening of his gut as he watches the two embrace in a passionate kiss. He can feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight.

When she walks through the door, she's in a daze.

"You're late." He sounds like such a dick. _What is wrong with him?_

She smiles softly, "Worth it."

"What was the hold-up?", He sounds like a nosy mum. He seriously hates himself.

She gives him a pointed look.

He cuts open the next box of fizzing whizzes a little to aggressively.

"Haven't heard you mention _this one_ before?" He says, referring to her rainy companion.

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, don't go all big-brother on me now. His name's Colin. He works with Cassie. He's lovely. Can we drop it?"

He doesn't say anything after that. In fact, he doesn't say much to her for the rest of the shift. It doesn't matter. She's _clearly_ got her mind on other things.

Its the first rain of the season, and the incomprehensible feelings currently churning in his stomach are far from brotherly…

—-

The flowers are beginning to bloom, and she runs into them on the street. It's a Sunday morning. The shop is closed. Colin's treating her to a nice brunch.

Turns out, Ted is treating _Lindy_ to brunch at the very same establishment. Rose can barely contain her grimace.

Lindy has an _amazing _idea. They should all go to brunch together. Colin agrees enthusiastically. Ted has lost all the color in his face.

The flowers are beginning to bloom and Rose is, without a doubt, the worst human being on the planet. She should be having a lovely time. She should be. She's having an excellent meal, with a new boyfriend, a good friend and said "good friend"'s perfectly sweet girlfriend.

However, she's totally miserable. She isn't exactly sure why. She has a _faint_ feeling it could be the way Ted refuses to make eye contact with her, having his gaze planted firmly and adoringly on Lindy. Luckily, the two alternate partners have enough people skills between themselves to keep the conversation going.

Since getting with Colin, she's tried her damndest to put every less than platonic feeling for her dark-eyed coworker to rest. In the shop, when he's being a _brainless moron, _it's a lot easier to remind herself of all the reasons why she shouldn't like him. However, with him fawning over his mousy companion, looking alarmingly attractive, all she wants to do is shake him, screaming "Why Don't You Like Me?!"

She holds Colin's hand extra tight and laughs at his jokes extra hard. He deserves so much better than this.

The flowers are beginning to bloom and the excruciating meal is finally done with. The four of them part ways. As she and Colin are making their way back home, he mentions sentimentally, _what a nice time_ they had and _what a nice guy_ Teddy is.

The flowers are beginning to bloom, but Rose feels something wilting inside her.

—

It's Sunday at the Burrow and he's _accidentally_ just railed Colin in the face with a Quaffle during what was supposed to be a friendly scrimmage.

It's not in his nature to be so aggressive. Even when he was playing professionally, his coaches were always telling him to _get mad. _He hasn't felt this need to be alpha in a long time. Of course, instead of an internationally acclaimed quidditch team, he's getting agro with a soft spoken, angular healers assistant.

"Geez, sorry mate!"

There's blood pouring from Colin's nose, but he gives Teddy a weak thumbs up. He feels a primal triumph. It doesn't last long.

In a moment, Colin is down on the grass below, getting tenderly cared for by a red-head who's now giving dagger eyes to Teddy. He can feel her anger even from his high perch. In fact, practically the whole family is looking at him with an amused, but considerable amount of concern.

The only one who seems pleased with the target of Teddy's vengeful aim, is Ron Weasley; a man not so easily won-over by men attempting to pursue his only daughter.

_If only he knew…_

The scrimmage continues without Colin, but with his departure into the welcoming arms of the Burrow, so leaves Rose Weasley. With a harrowing change in mood, he realizes her presence alone was keeping him puffed up and ready-to-play. He feels deflated and foolish. He wants to drive his broom straight into the lake.

It's Sunday at the Burrow, and he knows he's an idiot. He's got a lovely girlfriend who's fun and pretty and has an unmatchable zeal for life. But he can't help but be drawn to the woman sitting down the table from him. Hell, he couldn't even l_ook_ at her during that excruciating brunch a few weeks back. If anyone had seen the way his eyes were raking over that little yellow sundress, they'd throw up pitchforks. He's been trying to convince himself for a month that it's just because of her new relationship or that they're around each other all the time….

He now knows that isn't true. He felt it from the moment he laid eyes on her that first night, and he still feels it now. He physically injured a perfectly nice young man, just for the sake of impressing her.

He's a total goner.

It's Sunday at the Burrow, and he leaves early, apparerating immediately to Lindy's flat.

—

It's a slow, hot day at the shop and she doesn't know what's gotten into her.

O_h god…she wants him. _

She blames it on the dreams she keeps having. The ones where he's got her pressed against the wall of the stock room…or bent over behind the counter…or pinned beneath him in the field near the burrow…

It's been going on for weeks now. Every night she goes to bed, determined to nip this crazed fanaticism in the bud. Every morning, she wakes up delirious with pent up imagery of his lips and hands and neck and arms, all softly and urgently exploring their way around her body. She wants to die.

She broke-up with Colin. She had to. Ever since the Sunday he got swatted in the face by Teddy's "unintentional" throw, she knew she didn't love him. Couldn't love him. She'd barely been aware that Colin was even participating in the match, she'd been so mesmerized by Ted's playing.

Mesmerized by the taught figure that moved through his light t-shirt, his large hands gripping the handle of his broom, the determined expression on his face…the way he would look at her, just briefly; as if to tease her, challenge her.

She had no idea what the _fuck_ he was doing, since he was still with Lindy, but it made her mind go hazy. It made the air too hot. It made her dress too tight.

Like now. He's stocking some shelves. She's supposed to be placing an order for receipt parchment, but she can't stop staring. The bit of hard abdomen that's showing where his shirt has risen up, is making her practically drool.

She has a momentarily wicked notion of marching straight up to where he's stood and becoming _very _familiar with that bit of skin…and exactly what lay beneath.

A flush begins to creep it's way into her cheeks. She's hot _all-over_ and the stifling nature of the shop isn't helping.

As if by some cruel turn of fate, he chooses just that moment of weakness to look back and place his burning gaze directly onto her. She flushes deeper and _curses_ her rouge genetics.

She manages to tear her gaze away from his figure to furiously feign studying the invoice she's filling out. _How many packets did they need? 40? 40,000? What day is it? Where was she?_

Her quill snaps in her hand, the pieces falling to the floor in an undignified fashion. She bends over, feeling the deepening stare of her coworker cause that simmering fire to rise slowly within.

When she looks back up, there's an unfamiliar intensity in the way he's eyeing her. She's had men look at her in _that_ way before… But none of them, with the tortured restraint he's currently displaying. It's as if it's taking every morsel of self control, not to throw her down on the ground and have his way with her. It causes waves of heat to shoot straight to her core.

She shakes her head, ducking down to retrieve a useable quill.

_He's still with Lindy…You're imagining things…_

When she pokes her head back up, he's moved to the back of the store. She shakes her head again, wondering if she'll eve be able to shake this amorous obsession.

—-

It's unbearably hot and he's pretty sure he's losing it.

He's got it so bad, he feels like a school boy.

Every time he looks her way, he feels the most unearthly desire pull straight from his center. He _wants _her. He's wanted her for ages; but something about the heat, his recent break-up, and the slight glances he keeps seeing from her, is turning his want into a full blown obsession.

He's so desperate, he looks forward to falling asleep every night; knowing that maybe, just maybe, she'll appear and he can savor the feeling of her legs wrapped loftily around his waist while she whispers delicacies into his ear; her scent enveloping him entirely.

He can't even stop himself during the day. His instinct is to avoid her at all costs; knowing the many factors that would deem their union less than sanctioned. But he finds himself drawn to her in the most impulsive ways.

It's unbearably hot and she's got some song playing on the wireless. It's moody, evocative…sweltering. He's watching her from the landing of the second floor. He can't tell how long he's been staring at her; at this point, he can't seem to care.

She's moving lightly to the music; swaying softly to the beat. She's got her eyes closed. Her lips parted, gently singing the moody lyrics. She's in her own world.

He imagines coming up behind her; wrapping his arms around her. He wants to taste the soft skin of her neck… Would she back away? Would she press further into him? He feels the skin of his own neck begin to heat; an uncomfortable hitching in his drawers accompanying. He fears his want for her is too great- the sly looks and suggestive body language must be figments of his own psyche.

"You like this song?"

He voice calls from the floor below; her body a continuing visual accompaniment to the pounding drums of the music.

He clears his throat.

"It's alright- You seem to enjoy it enough…"

She laughs.

"It's an old song… I figured you'd appreciate something a little more relative to your demographic"

She looks up; locking eyes with him. He wills his expression to remain neutral.

"Old man…"

Her voice curls around the turn-of-phrase. She hasn't called him that in ages. It's different from the juvenile tease usually attached to the nickname. This time it's heated- challenging almost. Like she's daring him to show her exactly how much of an "old man" he _isn't_.

His heart hammers in his chest. His eyes haven't left hers.

"I appreciate the sentiment…"

He's walking down the stairs.

"-I wouldn't expect this thoughtful of a gesture from such a…baby."

Her mouth turns upwards. Her eyes darken. He's almost reached the bottom of the stairs.

"You-"

The door to the shop chimes. A new customer. The moment is broken. He's almost relieved.

It's unbearably hot. And the red-head plaguing his every waking moment isn't making it any easier.

—-

It's the end of the day, and Rose is exhausted.

She's been on her feet the entire day, not even having a chance to break for lunch. She's barely sure she's counting the cash register correctly.

The door chimes.

Through her tired fog, she remembers that she locked the door. No one should be coming in the shop, currently.

She raises her eyes to meet a pair of crazed ones peering through a black mask staring back at her.

"Put every thing you've got in here. Now. I'm not fucking around."

There's a wand, glowing green, pointed directly at her throat. She's paralyzed with fear. Her mouth is dry and her heart is racing a mile a minute. She's afraid she's going to pass out.

George never trained her on this, she has no idea what to do.

"I'm not going to fucking ask you again, little girl. Put everything in the fucking bag or I'm going to k-"

There's a flash of light and all of a sudden the crazed man is rigid on the ground in front of her.

"Holy shit, Rose. Did he hurt you? Don't move, I'm calling for help right now."

There's a chaotic series of events following the attempted robbery. George apperates to the scene immediately; apologizing profusely to Rose for not being more prepared for things of this nature. Policemen arrive, arresting the perpetrator. They sit Rose down and ask her too many questions. She feels overwhelmed and exhausted.

Through the haze of the questioning, she notices a strong hand resting on the small of her back. She knows it's him without having to look. He chimes in on answers, when her words fall short. She's immensely grateful.

She hears George say, "Ted, will you make sure she gets home safe? I'm going to stay here and settle some things."

And all of a sudden, she out on the street, walking home. His hand still firmly situated, guiding her down the dimly-lit, cobblestone road.

It takes a moment for the reality of what happened to hit her. She almost wants to cry.

Before she knows it, they're at her front door. His hand leaves her. She's ice cold. She's fumbling for her keys. She can feel a bumping panic begin to rise in her chest. She realizes, with dread, it's because she knows he's about to leave her. He'll go home, she'll be alone in her cold, dark apartment. She could call someone. She knows Al or Cassie would be there in a heartbeat.

But she doesn't want that.

iIt's the end of the day and she realizes, all she wants is for him to stay with her. To wrap his arms around her…keep her safe.

She's _such_ an idiot.

"Rose?"

She's been so preoccupied with her thoughts, she's been standing there, keys in hand, not moving. She looks into his eyes. They're tender, questioning. _Oh, she's a total goner. _

She wants to beg; implore him to come upstairs. She'll make him tea, she'll give him a blanket. They can share the bed. Nothing has to happen…She just wants him close.

She doesn't do that. No, she's not as brave as she always thought she was. Instead, she moves toward him and softly, timidly wraps her arms around his torso.

Is this the first time they've been this close? It sure feels like it. Rose is overwhelmed by the intimacy of the embrace. He's warm and safe, and it takes everything in her not to bury her face in his chest.

"Thanks.." she breaths. In the moment, she doesn't care if she's scaring him off, she doesn't care if she's ruined the friendship they've so steadily built. She just wants to stay in this warm, safe…intoxicating moment.

He tenses up at first, momentarily caught off guard by her action. He soon softens, and his arms are around her. He's holding on for dear life, his face burrowing into her hair. He's so close, she can feel his breath on her neck. Rose, again, feels like she going to pass out.

"For what?" his voice is hoarse.

She closes her eyes. "For saving my arse…"

She can feel his soft chuckle against her, the air from his nose causing a tingle down Rose's spine. _Oh jeez…keep it together, girl. _

"I think you would have fared alright…" his voice is soft, he's rubbing small circles on her back. It's probably meant to be comforting, but to Rose, it's stirring a deep, risky warmth pulsing through her.

"Well…I'm just glad it was you…" The words are out of her mouth before she can stop herself.

She can feel him tense again underneath her and, all too soon, she's lost her courage.

_Why did you say that? He's got a girlfriend, you stupid girl. _

She snakes her arms back quickly to the side and turns to unlock her door. She can't bear to look at him.

It's the end of the day, and she decides she really can't take the risk. He's too precious to her now. She shouts a small goodbye and closes the door quickly before he can say anything else.

—

it's two o clock in the morning and he can't sleep. He can't stop thinking about her. He feels as if he's on the precipice of some great unknown; the way she held him in that tender, aching way. He didn't want to leave her. He found his brain rattling off any and every excuse to stay near her, but his mouth wouldn't say the words.

"_I'm just glad it was you…"_

He felt his heart give in that moment. She sounded so vulnerable, so raw. It was like, in that second of time, they could see one another clearer and brighter than ever before. He wanted to live in that moment forever. Then she was gone.

It's two o clock in the morning, and he's pacing his apartment. He wants to call her. He wants to see if she's alright. He wants to know why she left. He's afraid she's with Colin…he doesn't want to walk up to her door, only to find another fellow there, rightfully questioning his motives.

"_I'm just glad it was you…"_

Even thinking about those words now, his body is filled with an electric buzz. He feels helpless and heady, like his person is no longer is own. It's not. He knows that. He left it on that rainy street corner, over a year ago. She took it without knowing, he gave it without thinking. All he can do now is pray…pray she'll decide one day to return it to him.

It's two o clock in the morning and he's sure he's dreaming…

He hears a knock at the door and he knows it's her. He feels his body trip over itself as he reaches for the front of his flat. His sweaty palms grasp the metal knob, practically flinging the door off it's hinges. He's shaking.

She looks pale, nervous…but determined. She's so beautiful.

She opens her mouth to speak, he opens his. No words seem to form. They're both breathing hard, eyes searing into one another, daring the other one to make the first move.

He decides he's had enough. To hell with the heavy complications. She's here. She's here. She's here. That's all he needs to know.

He reaches for her, his hands delicately grasping the wool of her sweater. He can see the light in her eyes shine. She's emboldened by his move. She's in his arms in a moment. They're finding their place in each others presence, the same way they did on the steps of her flat building, hours earlier. This time, however, it's more urgent, more meaningful.

In a dizzying display of emotional choreography, they're reading the nuances playing freely on each others faces for the first time. It feels terrifying and exhilarating.

He shuts the door behind them and takes her face in his hands, pushing the hair out of her eyes. He wants to tell her a thousand things.

"I-" He starts. Her eyes are so blue. Her body is so small and warm. Her lips are so pink and soft. He's lost for words, overwhelmed by the unspoken magic in the moment.

He traces her bottom lip with his thumb; softly, delicately. He's surprised by the darkening of her eyes. Her arms tighten around him, she moves her face closer to him. She's coaxing him, daring him. The mood shifts in a moment.

It's two o clock in the morning and he knows he's about to kiss her.

Their faces are mere millimeters apart, breathing deeply and heavily. He can't remember the last time he felt this intoxicated by the simple presence of another human.

The first kiss is soft and yearning. Over a year's worth of tension packed into one small, heartbreaking declaration of affection. He feels her body melt into his. Their kisses are slow and deep, each one of them tasting the other. He could exist in this magic for eternity.

He can feel one of her hands slide slowly to the front of his shirt, her fingers lightly tracing the spot of open skin where his pajama pants had slipped slightly. Suddenly, the atmosphere is drastically altered. The air is heavy as their kisses become deeper and more urgent.

Her hand, the one that had been carefully teasing that same delicate, torturous bit of flesh, decides to forgo discrepancy and reach for the source of his direct delight. He literally can't help the sound that comes out of his mouth. He can feel her smile against his lips. He's never seen someone so delighted just to touch him.

His hands dip beneath the fabric separating them and he's roaming her soft, warm body with urgent fascination. Her breath hitches as his fingers skim the gentle curve of her breast.

He must be dreaming.

Their first time they don't even make it to his bedroom. With her sweater pushed brazenly up to expose the mounds of soft white flesh that truly made him almost weep, the aforementioned pajama pants hung round his ankles, he's got her bent over the coffee table, crying with pleasure and moaning his name. He can't believe the way he feels right now.

He forgot sex could be like this. He forgot it could be fire and anguish and worth dying for.

It's two o lock in the morning and he knows she's close. He flips her over to see her undoing. He wants the snapshot of her wild hair, her mouth agape with ecstasy, her tasting his name on her lips over and over again. He wants it burned into him forever.

She pulls him to her, her chest rising and falling, softly trailing her fingers into his hair. She begins to work underneath him, moving her body, capturing the soft skin of his neck in her teeth and grazing lightly. She feels too good to be true. As his head dips to the soft crook of her neck, inhaling her sweet scent, he's soon to follow her in cries of ecstasy.

It's a little past 2am and he's lifting her up, carrying her to the bed. They're both giddy, and a little wobbly. Their second time is soft and slow. Their tongues dance languidly with one another, while he steadily moves inside her.

With the threat of nerves gone, they're bolder, more sure. She clings to him and whispers, "I've wanted this for so long…"

He reaches for her face, still softly stroking in and out of her. "You have no idea…" he sighed, "What you do to me…"

He makes her cry out again and again. He's overcome with what he's doing to her; what they're doing to one another. His person is fire and ice. Their bodies grip fiercely to one another.

Every agonizing curiosity held in regards to the other is answered. Every taste, every sound, every word, every whisper.

In the quiet spaces between fierce moments of bodies met; with their limbs tangled between sheets and eyes staring deeply into one another, they confess the timeline of every lingering stare, every gesture of kindness.

"I knew I wanted you since last Christmas…", she whispers, softly tracing the divots of his abdomen,

"I knew I wanted you since that night I walked you home…", he's running his fingers through her long, auburn curls.

"I loved watching you play Quidditch…"

"I loved seeing you wear the scarf I bought you…"

"I think you're incredible.'

"I think you're mesmerizing."

It's 5 o clock in the morning and the sun is peaking up over the city. They've been at it for hours; indulging in every quiet sigh, every illicit fantasy, every burning answer from the past year.

For now, they don't think about all the obstacles now standing in their way. They don't think about ages or employment or friends or…_family_.

For now they are content to wrap themselves in each others embrace, allowing the exhaustion from the night to wash over them as the sun is now washing in from the window.

—-

Thoughts on this pairing? I'm a fan for sure.

Leave a review if you're so inclined.

xoxo hope you liked :)


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